Jim Hare classic posts Archives

Grackle Fever

There is a fat toad who often sits on the walkway next to the lavender when I venture out in the morning. He hippity plops to cover as I round the corner. At this time of the year the air is still and refreshing at 5:00 AM. Soon the temperature will be staying above ninety around the clock, and going out in the mornings will be a different matter then. Not better or worse, just different, and I will adjust accordingly.

For now my morning ritual starts with a gardening project, something I can complete in an hour or so. This morning I cut back one of the Mexican bird of paradise bushes and reshaped the oleander. The cool air makes it a pleasant task. I work slowly, methodically, and stop often to appreciate the quiet neighborhood or to entertain random thoughts. Yard work is on the Zen side of laziness for me.

Before the sun rises above the eaves, I have only the gnats to contend with. Here in this river valley there are no fleas and almost no houseflies at all, so God, in his infinite wisdom, gave us gnats to build our character.

In the mornings or evenings you see people outdoors making violent waves of their hands in front of their faces during daily activities. That gesture is known hereabouts at the "Bullhead City salute". The reason is the gnats in the face. Gnats like the still air, so they come out in the mornings and evenings. They are a bit of a nuisance, but if it were not for them, we probably would not have the wonderful and mysterious bats that flit and flutter here and there at dusk. They sometimes pass within arm’s length. I believe their sonar is infallible in avoiding a lumbering object like me, but it is hard not to flinch anyway. The cats will hunker and stalk the birds during the day, but when the bats come whipping around, feline nerves get frayed, and the cats head for indoors.

When the pruning was done this morning, I still had shade, and the wind was down, so I decided to burn the palo verde needles from the lava rock. Also, Sharon was asleep. She does not like me to play with fire, so it was a good time.

Sharon’s fears are not unfounded. Two years ago I caught the palm tree on fire with my flame throwing torch kit. The year before that it was the barrel cactus. The palm tree got a little black, that’s all, but the barrel cactus is scarred. I tend to personify succulents, so I feel really bad about the cactus, and I’m sure it is afraid of me. Not only that, three of our cacti are registered. I am a licensed owner of two saguaros and a barrel cactus. What if someone reports me for mistreating my charges? What if the cactus police come? These are some of the thoughts I have while gardening.

It does not take much to make me stop and lean on a broom and muse. This morning the grackles were out. The great tailed grackles of this area are close relatives of the red-winged blackbirds who live out back in the cattails. They are shiny black with a sheen of blue when seen in the right light. Their tail feathers grow vertically instead of horizontally. When they fly, the tail feathers are held upright like the rudder of a boat. One variety in the southeast is called the boat-tailed grackle.

Their less than melodious calls got my attention. They are all excited about something these days. I can guess what that is. Couple of days ago Sharon and I pulled up in front of the communal mailboxes up at the corner. While Sharon searched for the key I watched some grackle courtship going on in the grassy area. The male had his wings extended and was knocking himself out in this quivering, high stepping, boogaloo, while she pretended to look straight up.

He: "Hey, baby!"

She: "Are those contrails up there?"

Then a second male arrived and stepped in front of Mr. Saturday Night Fever.

Second male: "He’s nothing, baby, check this out. Ooh, yeah, struttin’!"

She: Looks for a bug in the grass. Feigns boredom.

Sharon handed me the key, but I did not want to get out and disturb the scene. After a few more minutes of watching this mad rivalry, I did get out, and off they flew. As I rounded the corner back to the car, I saw Sharon watching me, so, letters in each hand, I extended my "wings" went into a love crouch, and began to shake, shiver, and high-step. I got a good laugh and a request for an encore later that evening.

My advice to guys is this: dance for your woman. This doesn’t require professional, or Chippendale quality, just shutter, flutter and strut. She will be unable to resist this gesture, though she may pretend indifference at first. You will be especially appreciated if your lady is nearing the west coast of life.

Re: Grackle Fever

Re: Grackle Fever

Re: Grackle Fever

Re: Grackle Fever

Re: Grackle Fever

Re: Grackle Fever

Re: Grackle Fever (Archive.)